


Lark's Smile

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Category: Emelan - Pierce
Genre: F/F, Glasshouse, character history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosethorn's affection for Crane dwindles with his growing affection for his glasshouse. Lark proves that Rosethorn is still a priority not to be discarded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lark's Smile

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago. I don't even remember when. Editing was a pain, given my writing style has changed so much! I must have been about 15 when I wrote this. I'm 20 in a month. I left most of it how it was, stylistically speaking. Hope you can get through it alright!

Crane was rambling on like an excited child, a very sophisticated child. He hid the excitement from his face but it layered his voice and shone through his actions. It was getting easier for Rosethorn's mind to drift. She found she was trying to pull it back less at each occurrence.

"With the greenhouse I would grow flowers and plants out of season. Tomatoes, even! Can you imagine? I could grow ripe, juicy tomatoes and you could cook..." Zone out time. When had he put his arm around her? Anyway, there was no way Rosethorn would be cooking anytime soon, certainly not tomatoes grown from some large, humid glass building that grew plants out of season! Besides, cooking wasn't her fancy. She was reasonable at it, but she didn't enjoy slaving away in front of the fire.

"Rosethorn? Rosethorn, I asked you a question," Crane reminded in an arrogant tone as he gazed down his rather long nose at her. Since when had he become her father? The two kept walking and Rosethorn looked sidelong at him with one eyebrow raised.

"I just missed it," the earth dedicate remarked dryly. They were getting close to Discipline; she could almost see it. Hopefully Crane wouldn't want to do anything more than talk. Rosethorn truly wasn't in the mood.

"I hate to repeat myself, but I asked if you have Midnight Service duty tonight."

"Yes, I have Midnight Torture tonight. Why do you ask?" Rosethorn answered. Crane knew she had Midnight Service duty every Earthsday. How could that have slipped his mind? The greenhouse thoughts must have been taking up more space in the air Dedicate's mind than either of them recognized.

"That's a pity. I was looking forward to spending the evening with you…" Crane replied, drifting over what Rosethorn thought was indelicate conversation. He seemed genuinely disappointed, albeit mildly. So much for him only wanting to talk. "…to talk about the greenhouse plans." Or not. He and his stupid greenhouse!

She almost preferred when he kissed her until her lips were chapped and pained to when he talked for hours about that foolish glass building. It was so unnatural! Plants were meant to grow in their natural season, not any time the gardener wished. Rosethorn looked briefly at Crane and cringed as she looked away. He was on another hour-long greenhouse tangent.

They were very close to Discipline now. Rosethorn could see the fence; through the open gate she could see the front yard, gardens and front path. Soon they reached the gate and Rosethorn looked up to find an eye-catching sight: Lark was dyeing yarn in the front yard, her habit rolled at the sleeves and kilted to free her legs. The sun played tricks on her glossy curls and her face was lit by a soft ray of sunshine. Her features were fine and taut in concentration. Her hands were colored where they had touched the dye.

Rosethorn glanced at Crane, whose mouth was moving as he spoke, and then to Lark as she worked. There was a slight grin tugging at the woman's lips as her hands continued working. Why was it that the green-mage wished to go help Lark work rather than listen to Crane ramble on? It was tempting, but Crane took that moment to bend down and press his lips to hers. His lips were hard; his stubble was itchy and uncomfortable.

The stocky young woman's eyelids fluttered open. She looked up with her light mulch-colored eyes and noted that Crane's eyelids were shut tight as he went about his business. Rosethorn's gaze slid to the side and landed on Lark. There it stayed; she concentrated on how the light toyed with the thread-mage's skin and hair. It rested on her hands as she used them to work the yarn. Her eyes were dark and lustrous, her lashes fluttering when she blinked. She lifted a hand to wipe away something imaginary on her cheek and was rewarded with a smear of green on her golden-brown cheek. Rosethorn barely managed keep from laughing into Crane's mouth.

After nigh an eternity Crane broke away and rubbed his hands slowly up and down Rosethorn's sides. "It would have been pleasant to spend the afternoon and evening with you, Rosethorn. Now that I think on it, though, I do have work that I simply must attend to. As a Dedicate Initiate now, I cannot let the work begin to pile up."

Rosethorn was surprised to find that she was dissatisfied with his leaving. She looked up and let her hurt show. "All right, Crane. It would have been nice to spend some real time with you, but I understand about the work. Don't let it stress you out."

Crane looked down at the chestnut-haired woman. She and Lark had cut it short recently. He preferred it long and had told her as much. She looked 'too boyish.'

"Do you mind if I come by later? I would appreciate spending some time more intimately with you," he whispered into her ear. So much for only caring about the greenhouse. Rosethorn's face fell. She wasn't in the mood and wouldn't be later in the evening. It was time for an excuse. She squirmed out of Crane's grasp and walked a few steps backwards before she spoke.

"I'm sorry, Crane. I'm on my moon days. You can come by for some talk over dinner and tea," she answered with contrived regret. She had spoken too loudly; she saw Crane look around to see if anyone had heard.

"I think work will keep me away," he said brusquely and turned. He was on his way down the path again.

So that's how it was? Work would keep him away if she wouldn't open her legs, but if she would nothing would keep him from her? That was worth remembering.

"What's wrong, Rosethorn?" a voice uttered softly to her left. Rosethorn turned to see Lark; she had finished with her yarn dyeing.

"What do you mean?" the shorter woman questioned innocently. This wouldn't last long. Lark could always cut through any walls the plant-mage tried to create.

"Your moondays don't start until tomorrow evening," Lark responded, her face revealing her concern.

"How do you know that? Crane hasn't caught on to that and I've known him since adolescence," Rosethorn retorted with a snort. Lark grinned slightly and it lit up her face. Her eyes were sparkled and her features relaxed slightly. The stocky woman caught the scent of sweet grass and fruit.

"I live with you, Rosethorn. I'm not likely to miss it," Lark remarked and her stunning brown eyes narrowed slightly. "If you wish for help with whatever is on your mind you'll have to dismantle the act."

Rosethorn glared at the taller woman but acknowledged she was right. The plant-mage did want assistance, or comfort at least. She wouldn't make it obvious.

"I just wasn't in the mood for Crane today," she lied convincingly. She thought so, anyway. Lark looked down at Rosethorn and seemed to search her eyes with care. Lark's eyebrow shot up; she certainly didn't _seem_ convinced, but she didn't speak on it. Rosethorn thought it best to tug the subject in another direction. "What will help me, I think, is an evening filled with joy, wit and good conversation."

"But Rosie, any evening with you is all three of those!" Lark exclaimed. Her face nearly glowed as she threw up her hands in good show. She stopped and her expression fell; it took on a vulnerable look as she recognized her mistake. "I'm sorry, Rosethorn. I didn't mean to let it slip."

The light-haired woman glanced to let her surprise show. She'd barely noticed.

"Rosie? Is that my name in the mind behind your mischievous brown eyes?" Rosethorn teased, a smile tugging at her rosy lips. Her eyes now held an impish spark. Perhaps the evening wouldn't be filled with gloom, after all. "Regardless, it's a nice short-name. I wouldn't mind hearing it again some time."

Lark lifted her head and tresses of her dark hair fell before her face. It was now light-hearted, smiling and...beautiful.

I shouldn't be surprised, Rosethorn scolded herself. She's always been beautiful. The ex-tumbler bowed as one might after the end of a play.

"Of course, dearest Rosethorn," the cloth-mage flirted with a roguish smile. "Today and tonight will cover smiles, laughing and conversation!" Lark performed a strange twirl she must have learned from a dancer-friend when she had been a tumbler. Both earth Dedicates broke out into laughter, doubling over and gasping for breath. Tears streaked their cheeks and a pleasant pain flooded their stomachs.

The two migrated indoors and Rosethorn had a brief moment of spirituality. She walked to the altar in the corner, bowed her head, did a prayer-sign and thanked a few select gods for Lark's company. It slipped her mind to be thankful of Crane's. When the woman finished her brief ritual she lit some incense and gave the bundle of dry herbs a quick pat. This completed, she was off after Lark.

Lark smiled down at her; it wasn't condescending in the slightest. Rosethorn smiled right back without hesitation. It surprised her that a smile would grace her lips so easily. It seemed that whenever Lark smiled, the green mage wished to smile too. The thread mage looked poised to speak but refrained when she looked to Rosethorn again.

"Would you like to see an amazing view with me?" the taller woman asked at last. She continued nervously before Rosethorn could answer. "I found an excellent spot nearby. Right upstairs, in fact!"

The shorter woman's brow shot up but she quickly smiled to reassure her companion.

"I'd be happy to. Just let me peek on the _shakkan_," Rosethorn responsed and walked to her bedroom. On a stand in front of the window stood a miniature tree, strong and green. It slanted to one side but did not cascade over its pot. The chestnut-haired woman tested the soil by lifting a rock from the surface and pressing her fingers into the indent it left in the soil. The _shakkan_ would need watering in the evening. It wasn't dehydrated, so Rosethorn went on to check it for parasites and fungus.

Before leaving the room she groomed off a few buds that, if left to grow, would go against the _shakkan's_ design. The other needles shivered slightly and the small tree pointed out that what she had done tickled and it _wanted_ to keep that growth. Rosethorn grinned and gave the trunk a gentle pat.

It would wreck your design; Crane and I have been working on it for _years_. It's no use wrecking _years_ of work for a bud or two, the woman scolded. A wicked glint caught in her eyes. Your twigs are growing almost perfectly. I'm glad Crane finally let me take you home with me to get some _actual_ work done.

The plant gave a feeling of agreement and tugged gently at Rosethorn's power. Her lips took a familiar sarcastic curve as she told the _shakkan_ it was a greedy little monster. It seemed amused; she let it have a small thread of her power.

No more misplaced bulbs, you, the woman added and stroked one of the branches. It seemed to believe it would convince her sooner or later. Rosethorn agreed: _shakkans_ were very patient plants. She was smiling as she left the room.

"Have a nice conversation with your green life?" Lark inquired with playfully smiling eyes. Rosethorn narrowed her eyes. The thread mage offered her hand to Rosethorn before speaking again. "I understand. Cloth is a surprisingly excessive talker."

The gardener laughed and put her hand in Lark's. The woman led the way up to the attic, where Rosethorn's eyes bulged. "I've never seen the attic this clean. I can't recall ever seeing the floor."

"Well, if you're looking at the floor you're looking the wrong direction," Lark mused and pointed to the attic ceiling. There was an open hatchway with a ladder folded in three sections. Rosethorn gawked. Why hadn't she noticed that before?

Probably because it's always been piled high with carts and boxes, she remembered with a grimace. She could see a stunning blue sky through the opening. Lark reached and pulled the ladder down. When it was straight and sturdy she backed out of the way so Rosethorn could go up first.

"When did you have time to do this?" The astonished woman stammered as she made her way to the ladder. Lark was at her tail.

"You weren't home until just before dawn yesterday and I couldn't sleep," Lark answered softly as she continued up the ladder. Rosethorn hit her head on the ceiling when she heard.

Lark knows what time I come in? she thought. It was erased when her head began to throb. At least she had made it to the top.

Lark jumped up after the green mage. Rosethorn turned, holding her head, to find a very concerned companion. "Are you all right?"

Rosethorn saw guilt behind the worry in Lark's expression. The taller woman felt horrible: the trip had been her idea. It wasn't her fault the gardener had hit her head.

"My dignity needs a bit of bandaging," she remarked with a sheepish grin. A thought struck her and it took all of her might not to laugh. She bent her head toward Lark before adding in a coy tone, "Kiss it better?"

To her surprise, Lark did. There was a kindness in her eyes that Rosethorn often glimpsed. The plant mage, to keep up appearances, chuckled at the idea and actions. Lark did as well, though it was softer. The smaller female caught sight of the view and gasped.

It was gorgeous. There was the rolling green grass, expansive blue sky, fluffy white clouds, Water Dedicates working the irrigation, Earth Dedicates working the field, the winding path and the Hub. The building in the center of the temple shone. The light reflected off the expensive glass. Rosethorn turned in a circle to take in the sight from each angle and then latched onto the chimney. Lark had disappeared.

She popped back up a moment later and laid a blanket out near the chimney.

"Forgot this," she mumbled as she worked. She sat down on the blanket facing the Hub. Rosethorn stepped onto the blanket but instead of sitting, lay back to look up at the sky and its numerous shades of blue and white. The clouds were feathery and free, morphing shape and position. Rosethorn smiled as she felt Lark recline beside her.

The two rested there for an hour exchanging few words and watching the sky before Rosethorn sat up and organized her hair. "We should get back to work. It isn't even a break hour."

Lark, still lying beside her, nodded and sat up. She yawned and covered her mouth. "I'm sure I can find something to do for a few hours. Shall we meet up here after dinner? I'm sure the sunset would be breath-taking and the stars absolutely amazing."

Rosethorn looked at the other woman and nodded.

"It sounds perfect. I think even a nap is possible up here," Rosethorn replied and looked out to the view. She turned her gaze back to Lark, "Not that I'm planning to."

Lark chuckled and stood. Rosethorn followed suit and stepped off the blanket so Lark could pick it up. Instead, the woman shook her head and looked to her friend. "Why don't we leave it here? If we're going to be coming back in a few hours it's just as well."

The plant mage smiled and nodded again. Her hand brushed Lark's as she walked to the ladder. For once, Rosethorn didn't care. It wasn't exactly that she didn't care, just not in the way she normally did. Even growing up she had hated physical contact with almost anyone. It took many years for her to grow into touching someone even for a friendly hug. This was unusual; she hadn't known Lark very long.

The woman, at the hand brush, looked up with surprise in her eyes. She knew Rosethorn and knew of her discomfort with physicality. When it was apparent that Rosethorn hadn't grown upset or angered, Lark smiled fully. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. The stocky woman gave a lazy smile in return and took the steps down the ladder.

~*~

As soon as Rosethorn entered her workspace she noted that a few of her herbs needed repotting. She got right to it; they were highly appreciative. All but one: her basil attempted to argue its way out of repotting. It told her over and over that it was quite enjoying its time in the pot it was in and didn't want a new one.

Rosethorn snickered; she had forgotten that she had one herb with a fear of change. When it was finished, the plant was actually quite pleased; it was glad to have been moved.

Wasn't that always the case? Rosethorn thought as she began to clean up the spilled soil.

~*~

Soon enough the two women were back on the roof watching the sun set and the first few stars peek out of the dark skies. It seemed a few stars appeared every second, winking and playing like a group of rowdy, fragile children. Rosie felt she could reach up and touch them.

Beside her Lark reached up with both of her hands flat as though against a ceiling and looked up at them against the sky lit with so many small lights. Rosethorn turned in wonder and her curiosity got the best of her. She never had been very good at holding her tongue.

"What in Mila's name are you doing?" she questioned, though softer than one could expect when phrased in such a manner. Lark turned her arched neck and smiled. Her eyes looked more lustrous and mysterious than they did even in daylight. With the stars up above them and the air clear around them it was even more evident.

"I'm looking at the contrast. When I put my hand up it's as though there's a dark spot in the shape of my hands up in the sky. Go on, try it," the thread mage urged with a charming smile tugging playfully at her lips.

Rosethorn raised her brow—the idea certainly seemed strange enough. Again her curiosity won over and she turned to lift her hands up to the sky. Lark was correct. Even the few feet between the woman's eyes and her hands had darkened to an almost-black color. They blocked the stars behind them and left what seemed an indent in the sky.

Lark turned again but Rosethorn didn't see it. Instead, she heard how clear Lark's voice was when she spoke again. "It's nice, isn't it? Feeling like we've made some incredible mark in life, even if it's just until our arms cramp up."

They both laughed at that and sighed in unison. It was a pleasant sigh, one of contentedness and pleasure. The night air caressed their skin while the sky and twinkling stars offered a fantastic view. Words came short then, but they weren't missed. Lark's hand brushed Rosethorn's as they let their arms fall. Tingles followed the touch and a shiver of what could have been lightning shot over the gardener's skin. She didn't comment on it, but noted it for future reference.

Too soon it was time for the Midnight Service and the two dedicates had to pack up and head out. They walked close together as they made their way to the service. The bells rang when they were halfway there. They were running late and began to jog, laughing all the way. It was so free and childlike that Rosethorn couldn't help but smile.

The Midnight Service commenced the way it did nearly every night, with the speeches varied according to current events. The order of the service was the same; soon it came time for Rosethorn and Lark to blow out the candles, brush up the herbs and clean up. It didn't last long. Even with Lark new to this life, she seemed a seasoned pro.

When they got back to Discipline the two cleaned up the cottage before heading off to their separate rooms. When Rosethorn was tucked into bed and ready to sleep there was a soft knock at her bedroom door. It was almost inaudible, but her sensitive hearing caught it.

"Is that you, Lark?" the Dedicate whispered from her bed.

The willowy Dedicate sidestepped into the dim light of a candle on the kitchen table.

"Yes," she answered. There was silence and it was apparent that she was wording whatever she had thought to bring up. "Are you sure you're all right? I still don't really know how to comfort you."

Rosethorn's heart warmed slightly and she scolded it. That motion was supposed to be purely for Crane, though that had happened less since their time at Lightsbridge. She looked up and squinted to see Lark standing there with her features masked in anxiety and nerves.

"I'm all right at this moment, Lark. Thank you. You know exactly how to comfort me," Rosethorn replied. Lark smiled genuinely and looked through her lashes at Rosethorn. It was rare for the thorny woman to give compliments; Lark received it well. Reassured, she nodded and began to close the door again. When there was but a crack left open she spoke again.

"Sweet dreams, Rosie," she said softly. It was almost as quiet as her knock had been, but still Rosethorn heard and cherished it.

"Sweet dreams, Lark," the stocky plant mage murmured when the door closed. She heard steps and a second door closing. Within minutes she was drifting off to sleep with thoughts of the beautiful night sky frequenting her mind's eye.

~*~

The next day there was a knock at the door and Lark went to answer it. When she saw it to be Crane she welcomed him as warmly as she did anyone else. That was just who she was—kind and compassionate to an extreme.

"Is Rosethorn available?" he asked smoothly and crossed his forearms. He was standing stiffly, as usual.

"Yes, she is. Would you like to sit for tea?" the thread mage offered and smiled at the man. He was only a few inches taller than she.

"No, thank you. I won't be staying long and hope to take her with me," Crane answered. Lark nodded and set off to find the other woman of the household. She was out in the garden with her broad-rimmed hat. The sun shone on her as she kneeled in the dirt and worked with her hands. She was pulling weeds.

"Crane is here, Rosethorn. He wishes to take you somewhere. I'll help you weed when you come back so it'll be as though you didn't miss any time in the garden at all," Lark propositioned. Rosethorn had turned around at the mention of Crane and stood when the cloth mage had finished speaking.

"Thank you. I'll go see him, then," Rosethorn muttered almost hesitantly as she walked through her workshop to the kitchen. Crane was still waiting by the door. He seemed to perk up when he saw Rosethorn walk in.

"Rosethorn, there's something I wish to show you," he informed formally and opened the door for her. She crossed her arms as she walked out into the sun again. She was still wearing her hat and it had the added pro of keeping Crane from suffocating her with his habit of wrapping half his body up against hers as they walked. He seemed quite discouraged by this but kept walking.

They walked to the Air Temple in silence. Crane never had been good with small talk. Instead he walked with his head held high and an essence of pure pride about him. It was enough pride to drown a woman; it wasn't the kind of pride she enjoyed: it was an arrogant, egotistical pride. She thought it might make her gag. Normally she could stand it, but her tolerance had diminished through the days.

But she loved him, right? There would always be flaws about a person. That just happened to be his. She could live with that, right?

When they reached the Temple, Crane had trouble holding his excitement. Soon enough they reached a clearing that had previously been empty. Now there was wood, marble, large pieces of glass and other materials all over the place. Rosethorn took it all in as the Air Dedicate began to speak.

"This will soon be my very own greenhouse. I'm using the majority of my funds on this and I think it will figuratively bear fruit. I finished my plans last night before sunset and got them to the Dedicate Superior for approval. I managed to acquire a construction team quickly enough."

He walked to one of the glass pieces and looked at it with such care and gentleness that Rosethorn felt a surge of jealousy.

Now that is just ridiculous, she chastised. I am _not_ going to be jealous of a piece of _glass_. The feelings dissipated slightly, but not nearly enough.

Crane turned and his face fell to discontent. "I do have some bad news, though. I won't be able to participate in the Mid-Summer festivities. This project requires too much work for me to spend a day dilly-dallying around Winding Circle."

Rage took over all of Rosethorn's emotion. It filled her from her toes to the very tip of her scalp. She could almost feel it burning her clothes away and steaming out of her pores. Her glare was fierce as her fisted hands found their way to her hips.

"Crane, you _promised_," she growled in a voice far sharper than it had been in years. "It's my _birthday_."

"Self proclaimed," Crane riposted huffily and then took a deep breath as he put his palm to his forehead. He looked as though this was a small inconvenience, a thorn in his toe. Rosethorn's fury increased.

"It isn't just 'dilly-dallying around Winding Circle,' as you so eloquently put it. It's important to me! If this glass house of yours is going to replace me then let's give it proper time to acclimate to its responsibilities. I won't be seeing you for a while, Crane," the raging woman spat and turned on her heel.

Crane called after her but he didn't sound as she had wished: he sounded as though this was an unwanted and unwarranted side-effect. She kept walking and didn't look back. For the first time in years she was acutely considering breaking it off with Crane.

When Rosethorn reached Discipline her cheeks were streaked with tears. She walked straight through the kitchen where Lark was embroidering a handkerchief and into her simple, ill-lit room. The gardener slammed the door behind her and fell face-first on her bed. It wasn't comfortable, but it fit.

"Rosethorn...?" Lark asked politely through the door. She didn't open it. "Do you want to talk?"

"No!" Rosethorn hollered. "I don't want to talk to any_one_ about any_thing_ any_more_!"

She punched her pillow as her insides fought their own war. It was hard not to feel terrible when she had just been discarded for an unfinished glass building. Hate, jealousy, envy and desire churned in her gut and blood. Hate for Crane, jealousy of that damned greenhouse, envies of the love so many others had that she didn't and desire for support and that idealistic love. She bit down on her bottom lip until it bled to keep herself from screaming out.

She didn't come out of her room until hours after the sun had set and the dinner bell had rung. Lark was sitting at the kitchen table with the handkerchief in her lap. It appeared that she hadn't worked on it at all. She was looking at Rosethorn's door with worry, concern and something else. She looked up when Rosethorn stepped out; the shorter woman noticed that there were tears in the thread mage's eyes and down her cheeks.

Neither spoke as the gardener made herself tea and sat down across from Lark. Rosethorn cradled the teacup in both hands and sipped at it. She had a faraway look.

"He dropped our Mid-Summer date and I temporarily broke off from him," she whispered. Her eyelids were wide open as she was watched the door. It looked as though she were gazing into some other world as tears slid from her eyes, down her cheeks and neck. She tasted salt as one pooled in the crease of her bottom lip.

"Oh, Rosie!" Lark exclaimed and hurried to Rosethorn. The handkerchief crashed to the floor. The thread mage kneeled by the gardener's seat and took her hand gently. Lark held it and nuzzled her cheek into the back of the soft pale skin. Rosethorn looked down and her eyes came back into focus. Rosethorn waited to catch Lark's eyes; it didn't take long.

Love. That was in Lark's eyes. It had been present for almost as long as Rosethorn could remember knowing the ex-tumbler. Suddenly the stocky Dedicate's life didn't seem just so desolate. She scraped back her chair legs and used the hand Lark held to pull her up slightly. At the same time Rosethorn slid from the chair to kneel in front of the thread mage. Rosethorn pulled Lark into a tight embrace then cried on her shoulder.

As much as the green mage half-enjoyed her solitary angst, she couldn't help noting that it felt good to have someone to confide in. Lark had waited for hours outside the door. Rosethorn felt supported; her broken heart warmed.

When Lark let go and leaned back, though, Rosethorn crumpled to the floor. Her limbs felt numb. The majority of her insides did as well. This was the second phase of her heartbreak. She felt desolate. The plant mage wilted against the table leg.

"No, oh no," Lark murmured in a whisper and lifted Rosethorn gently to her feet. From there the taller Dedicate bent and put one arm behind the smaller woman's knees. Rosethorn was lifted into the air in Lark's arm. Normally the light-haired woman would have flinched, squirmed and freed herself of the hold. At the moment she and rested her head against Lark's collarbone. Rosethorn didn't blink. Her eyes stayed open: wide and non-seeing.

The dark-haired woman walked to her own room with care but appeared to walk without strain, as though Rosethorn didn't weigh a thing. They both knew that wasn't true and that Lark was incredibly strong, but in the far back of Rosethorn's mind, where not everything was numb, she appreciated the gesture. She was laid on a bed far softer than her own. Lark must have put some sort of home-made pad underneath her sheets. She brought the covers up to Rosethorn's shoulders and didn't seem to care that the gardener was dirty.

Lark pulled up a chair from a corner of her room and sat to watch Rosethorn. The woman tossed and turned a bit and rolled over to face the seated woman.

"Lark...?" she asked, almost inaudible. She half hoped the other woman wouldn't hear her. As with so many times in the last few weeks, she was out of luck.

"Yes, Rosie?" Lark answered quietly and looked at Rosethorn with such affection that the shorter woman didn't know what to do with it. Heat rose to her face, ears and neck. She couldn't speak. Instead she lifted her arm to tap the bed beside her and looked to Lark with an almost childish questioning. Lark understood.

She slipped off her habit to reveal a silky modest nightdress and climbed into the bed with great care. She didn't touch Rosethorn at all.

Rosethorn wasn't put off by this and moved closer to Lark. The smaller woman curled up with her back against the softest parts of Lark. Rosethorn fit well against the lanky woman's curves. Soon she felt a strong arm envelop her. She sighed comfortably and concentrated on the warmth against her back. It was unusual to feel the swell of two breasts pressed to her shoulder blades, but it wasn't unpleasant. Everything was much gentler than anything she had experienced in a long time. Lark's long neck arched as she brought her lips to the top of Rosethorn's head. The thread mage kissed the spot and mirrored Rosethorn's sigh.

It felt good to have someone so warm, tender and loving in the bed.

~*~

Rosethorn and Crane's relationship went downhill from there. Rosethorn spent Mid-Summer with Lark and had a delightful time. Crane broke many dates following that to spend more time working on, decorating and filling the greenhouse. He barely glanced at Rosethorn when they saw each other on the path, in the Hub or at gatherings.

As that relationship continued to plummet, Rosethorn and Lark's relationship blossomed. They continued to grow closer, though not physically save shared sleeping.

One night the mood felt different when Rosethorn walked into the kitchen after a long day of work. Lark walked in at the same time from a day of spinning and weaving. She felt the difference as well.

Their talk over dinner was intimate and flirtatious. They cleaned up the dishes and Lark snuck into her room. She appeared a few minutes later dressed exactly the same; nothing about her appearance had changed. Rosethorn was suspicious but genuinely content. They two watched the sun set from Discipline roof and reconnected in the kitchen. There was a candle in the middle of the table that lit the room with a dim glow.

A small trickle of music entered in the window from a celebration at the Hub. Rosethorn looked to Lark and was surprised to find that she looked more beautiful than the green mage could previously recall. There was love, caring, acceptance and compassion in the woman's eyes, just as there always was. That day there were additional emotions, those that had remained hidden for quite a long time. Desire, lust and passion were deeply woven into Lark's gaze and motions that night.

"Would you care for a backrub, Rosie?" she invited in a velvety voice as she pulled a chair from under the kitchen table. Rosethorn smiled at the use of the short-name and nodded as she took a seat.

Lark brushed the material of the habit away from Rosethorn's neck and placed cool hands on her neck. The thread mage's hand worked the creamy skin with expertise. It seemed that every digit in those golden hands was in motion. Rosethorn let a sigh hiss from her lips as she felt the tension ease out of her muscles.

Lark trailed her fingers up Rosethorn's neck to her temple. The woman shivered. The stitch witch used the first two fingers on both hands to massage Rosethorn's temple and scalp. Rosethorn had to keep herself from moaning. She had always had sensitive skin on her head and neck. Her skin was scorching; she was surprised it wasn't burning Lark's finger tips.

Rosethorn's skin twitched in surprise of lips against the merge of her neck and shoulder. More light kisses followed in a line up to the skin behind her ear. Lark took the earlobe gently into her lips and grazed the skin with her teeth. Tingles spread to every inch of Rosethorn's skin. Her neck arched as her eyes closed; her face transformed to one of longing. Lark traced the ear with her tongue and breathed gently on the area. Rosethorn shivered as a tide of desire crashed through her limbs and congregated at her center.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Lark whispered in the woman's ear. She nodded helplessly and felt herself be lifted into the strong hands she had just felt massaging her. Rosethorn opened her eyes and leaned up to press her lips to Lark's. They were supple but impassioned. It was their first kiss; Rosethorn liked it. She wanted more, much more.

When they broke away Lark held a smile in her eyes. Rosethorn felt her companion was about to do something spontaneous. Before the green mage could think another word she was swept around the room in beat with the music. She caught on to this and danced in Lark's lead. She pressed her own, shorter body against the tall, athletic one before her. For the first time in a lifetime she was glad it was required she study dancing at Lightsbridge.

Lark lowered her head to nibble, suck and lick at Rosethorn's neck and shoulder. She moaned and closed her eyes but quickly opened them again. She saw the curve of Lark's neck before her and immediately wanted to touch it. Rosethorn had always been bad at not doing what she wished to do, as well.

Her fingers lightly stroked the skin, leaving goose-pimples in their wake. She felt a bite on her neck and gasped at the exquisite pain. Lark began to spoil the spot with more kisses and licks to make up for what she thought was a mistake.

"No, Lark, I liked it," Rosethorn breathed. She pushed Lark back to get a good look at her. The green mage adored the curve of Lark's neck, the softness of her skin, the perkiness of her chest, her strong arms and her long, performance-toned legs. It was the body of a tumbler. "I want more."

Lark smiled and took Rosethorn's hand. She lifted it and entwined their fingers. The thread mage bent foreword to kiss each one of Rosethorn's knuckles, looking up into the green mage's mulch-colored eyes as she did. The shorter woman melted into the touch and kissed Lark again over their hands.

Rosethorn's tongue brushed Lark's bottom lip. The next time it ventured out it was met by Lark's tongue. The tips of their tongues touched: it was thrilling.

Rosethorn felt a throb at her center and weakness in her knees. Her skin was hot; she was sick of the habits keeping her skin from Lark's. The plant mage simply wanted them gone. As she ran her tongue along Lark's bottom lip she began to walk the two of them towards the thread mage's room.

Lark groaned into Rosethorn's lips. They burst into the cloth mage's room and immediately Rosethorn recognized what Lark had snuck off to do. There were candles on every surface and rose petals around the bed and circled around it. In a vase on the nightstand sat a bouquet of indigo crocuses. The throb in Rosethorn amplified at the thoughts of Lark doing this for her. She broke the kiss with Lark and pushed the taller woman onto the bed.

Her last thought was only half coherent. It spoke to her of emotion, yes, and respect. There were many emotions she couldn't name or describe. She didn't know how to start with them, but for once embraced them rather than pushing them away.

She looked to Lark and saw a reflection of her feelings in the other woman. It wasn't verbalized. Maybe it never would be. What mattered to Rosethorn was that they were there. Lark reached up and cupped Rosethorn's cheek. It was caring and warm, velvet layered on silk with the faint sound of a bird's song.

Rosethorn almost melted on the spot.

~*~

In the early hours of the morning, when the two had finally decided to sleep, Rosethorn remained awake as her mind whirled. The two women were entangled in each other, limbs woven and faces close. Rosethorn watched Lark as she slept. Her face was peaceful and full of love. Her hair stuck together behind her ear; it was still slick with sweat. Lark was beautiful awake, asleep and in any other form.

The green mage thought about how she had believed only Crane was changing over the years. She thought she had been the constant. She saw now that she had changed along the path as well. It was a challenge to face it, but she did. Now she laughed at the memory of thinking Crane was changing into an arrogant aristocrat as she remained exactly the same.

Maybe Crane wasn't so bad. They'd simply grown apart as they transformed. They had needed new, individual pots. Rosethorn had found hers; her biggest thrill now was letting her roots grow deep and strong. She wished Crane would fine the same.

I can live this way, Rosethorn thought. She looked to the sleeping form of Lark, who even in her sleep pulled the smaller woman closer. The green mage pressed her forehead to Lark's chest and closed her eyes as she smiled. I certainly can.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, if you remembered the 'I don't want to talk to anyone about anything anymore' quote, it was a Tammy quote for Tris. I always saw the two (Rosethorn and Tris) as quite similar.


End file.
